Five times Castafiore called Irma a girl and one time she didn't
by Lieju
Summary: Bianca Castafiore/Irma, because this fandom needs more femslash.


1.

"So, you're my new girl?"

Irma could feel the opera singer's gaze on her, evaluating her.

"Yes, Madame, she answered, with a slight nod.

Bianca Castafiore waved her hand dismissively. "Well, don't just stand there, unpack my things, Girl."

* * *

2.

"Girl!"

Irma had a feeling her Madame didn't like her. Well, she could deal with that. She was a professional, through and through. But sometimes it felt like the singer tried to find things at fault, just so she could scold her.

And she had been on a foul mood all day.

"Irma," Castafiore called her, and before she could even ask what she wanted, the singer continued,

"Are you ever planning to get married?"

The maid was taken aback by this.

"I- I haven't really thought of it, Madame."

And why was she asking something like this anyway? Irma could feel a blush sneaking onto her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or anger, she couldn't tell.

Castafiore seemed to completely ignore her answer, and thrust a magazine at her.

"Read, Irma, read!"

"Oh."

The tabloid in her hands was loudly announcing a wedding on its gaudy cover. Between her Madame and-

"You are marrying Baron Halmaszout?"

The magazine was snatched from her and throw across the room.

"Don't be foolish, Girl! Do you think I would even think of accepting even an invitation from that, that _barbarian_!"

Irma nodded, uncertain if it was her place to say anything. She had thought the Baron and Castafiore had been friends at the very least.

"Barbarian?"

"Don't let that bother you, girl."

"I won't, Madame."

* * *

3.

Irma closed the door, face red.

To her relief, judging by the melodious laugh echoing in the palace her Madame had not been angered by her walking on her and the Maharajah of Gopal in a somewhat compromising position.

"Don't worry, dear, that was just my dear girl," she could hear her saying.

Irma all but fled, uncertain and confused.

And oddly relieved when they left the palace two days later, on good terms with their host.

* * *

4.

"Girl!"

Irma turned around, and froze at the sight of her boss, standing in the doorway.

"I-" Irma snapped her mouth shut, certain any excuse she could give would not be enough.

She had been caught red-handed, it was obvious she had not been expecting her madame back this soon.

Bianca stood in the doorway, and waited as Irma removed the rings, the golden necklace and the fragile-looking tiara that had looked so out of place on her plain head.

The priceless treasures were hastily stashed back to their box, and with shaking hands Irma closed it. It was best to leave it there on the dresser, she was afraid that if she tried to lift it she'd drop it.

And she was suddenly struck with the feeling Castafiore would think she was trying to dash away from the door with it, if she held the box.

Actually, that wasn't feeling like such a horrible idea... Running away at least. She was no thief.

Finally she lifted her gaze, to meet the eyes of Bianca Castafiore.

Was she angry? Disappointed?

"I'll... I was going to put them back," she told her, starting to feel the tears in her eyes.

"Of course you were going to put them back, Girl," Castafiore stated matter-of-factly. "I would think you a rather unaccomplished thief if you tried to make off with your loot on top of your head."

Irma tried to steady her breathing, trying to steady herself, and be ready for what would certainly follow.

But instead of firing her on the spot, Bianca gave her an unreadable look and walked to the dresser.

"Shouldn't you be getting my things ready for my trip to Marlinspike hall, Girl?"

"Y-yes, Madame."

"Well hurry on then!"

"Yes, Madame!"

* * *

5.

Irma escaped the room in tears.

She was a goner! Not only had her Madame's emerald been stolen but everyone was thinking it was her!

She almost collided with Castafiore.

Irma attempted to flee, but found herself in a firm embrace.

"Irma?"

The maid pulled away. "It wasn't me!"

Now that she thought about it, it must have been her Madame who had told the police it was her.

She felt betrayed, and yet it only made sense for her Madame to think that-

But the look on her Madame's face was... worried and confused.

"What's the matter, Girl?"

"I- it wasn't me. I am not the thief!"

"Don't be silly, Girl, no one thinks you're the thief."

"The police do! And I will be-"

Castafiore firmly but gently guided Irma to a nearby chair.

"Ernest!" she commanded the butler who had been summoned by the commotion, "Look after her, get her a scotch!"

And with that, she stormed off, leaving the two stunned.

And soon they could hear her voice, booming with anger.

"What is this I hear!? You had the effrontery to accuse Irma!? My honest Irma!? I shall complain to the United Nations! If you don't apologize to Irma I leave this house immediately!""

Irma almost felt sorry for the two policemen.

* * *

1.

"How are you feeling?"

Irma was almost startled at the gentle tone of her Madame.

"I'm fine."

Now that she had calmed down, it all felt so foolish.

"I hear you hit the two policemen. With their own cane."

Irma blushed.

"Well, done, Irma."

Irma stared at Bianca, certain she was hearing things.

"I attacked a police officer! Two of them! What if they will arrest me?"

"Phuh, they can take it. And it was their fault to begin with!"

The smile Bianca was giving her was so tender and warm at that moment, like a sun, that Irma felt like she was blinded.

And certain she was going to prison anyway, she reached to her embrace, and clumsily kissed her.

The singer seemed surprised at first, but soon responded, deepening the kiss.

Irma pulled back, suddenly certain that her inexperience would only-

"You are a magnificent woman, Irma."

"I..."

She stared back at the woman she so admired, who was so certain, so perfect, so in charge of every and single situation she was thrown in.

Who thought she was magnificent.

And it felt like some of that certainly flowed to her, and she nodded.

"Yes."


End file.
